At first he had no voice to speak of,
wore a cloak of faded rainbows,
woke each day in darkness
the drip,drip of grey water shrinking his skull.

Naked and vulnerable,  found himself
in the middle of a vast plain.
Cheeks wet with despair,
asserted himself with unearthed tools from an ancient seam,
wound himself with the colour of sun,
changed the face of a monstrous landscape.

'All things must change, into something new, something strange.'

Defeated by a measureless sea,
in waves of passion set free
his words on the back of a avenging hawk.
Oiled feathers heavy with rumours.
Swept over desolate hills,
followed floors of arid valleys,
observing the fractured terrain between
his land and the next.

Hostile feathers splayed,
he alighted on a familiar rock,
a pleasing trickle watering her back.
Caught off guard, she could not bear the weight,
the ****** carnivorous throat,
the accusing claws.

(What is the sound that fills this space?
Is it a lost soul grieving?)

She parts moist hair from heavy lids :

“Come, unveil the clouded patterns from your eyes.
Let me fill your echoing cavern with  songs of our ancestors,
take you back to the flame that brought you here.

Though you have banished me with the silence of stone,
I was there at your birth
and still my blood runs through you.




copyright © Caroline Grace 2012